Once Upon a Time,

about forty years ago, there was a young girl who lived in her own little world.   She also lived on a farm.  One Summer a young lady came to the farm for a few weeks.  The girl and the young lady found they had many things in common.  They liked the same books.  They both read music and sang alto.  They both liked to make things.  They even, though they would have been considered by some to be too old for them, still liked dolls. 

The Summer ended, as Summers do, and the young lady went back to her home.  School took the girl's attention, so she did not miss the young lady too much.  She was greatly surprised and pleased to find, at Christmas time, that her older friend had left a gift for her.  She had made a cloth doll with dark hair and a dress overlaid with lace.  What a thoughtful thing to do!  

The year before the girl graduated high school, the family moved to a different state.  In the process, the truck containing most of the family's goods was destroyed by fire.  The cloth doll, along with many other treasures, did not survive.  One photograph of the girl and the doll had been taken.  It was still good enough to see.  Someday, perhaps I will find that picture, again, and post it on this blog.

Over the years, the girl and the lady found a few occasions to renew their friendship.  The lady was wise and talented and interesting.  The two never ran out of things to talk about. 

When both women were considered middle aged, the lady was found to have a tumor.  Weeks and months of prayerful hope passed.  The lady had many family members and her special brand of love had endeared her to many, many people.  The Lord, in His great wisdom, allowed her rest.  We, who were left behind, sorrowed greatly.  Perhaps the reader has experienced such a loss.  If so, there is no need to describe our pain.  If not, there is no way to make you feel what we felt.  Knowing that we will meet again comforted us.  The hole she left will never be filled, but we learned how to avoid falling into it quite as often.  

One day, the lady's sister came to me, for I was the girl of this story.  She said that the lady's house was being cleared out.  There were some things in the living room.  I was to go and choose a keepsake or two. 

In one of the boxes was a piece of lace.  In another was a little cloth doll.  She was not at all like the doll my friend had made for me.  Dressed in simple calico, with brown felt hair, french knot eyes and a straight little mouth, she was rather plain.  She lives at my house, now, as does the imperfect piece of lace.  I shall never forget my friend, but it is nice to have this tangible token of someone I have not been able to touch for over five years. 

I hope that reading this had not made you very sad.  I have a great many dolls.  I really need to pare down my collection.  An appraiser would never see why some of dolls are so valuable, to me.  Do you treasure a doll or two that don't "fit" into the collection that you have?